


Helpless

by Rookblonkorules



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Graphic Depiction of Violence is not all that graphic, Guilt, Hostage Situation, PTSD, Profiling, Reid tries, Serial Killers, Spencer Reid Whump, Whump, better safe than sorry, but a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-10 22:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20535908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rookblonkorules/pseuds/Rookblonkorules
Summary: It was funny. Funny in a sick, horrible way that he knew the symptoms of PTSD, knew how to recognize them, but didn’t know the first thing to do about them. Not even to help a friend.





	Helpless

PTSD.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

During World War I, it was known as “combat fatigue” and “shell shock.”

During World War II, it was labeled “battle fatigue” and “gross stress reaction.”

It was only in 1952 that it was first recognized as a psychiatric disorder.

Those suffering from its effects may experience shock. Anger. Fear. Shame. Helplessness. Guilt. Frustration.

Spencer Reid wants to grind his teeth together in frustration as, once again, his knowledge once again plays through his head.

It’s funny, he supposes. Funny in a sick and horrible way that he knows the symptoms of PTSD, knows nearly everything about them- his eidetic memory will never let him forget them- but he doesn’t know the first thing to do about them.

Not even to help a friend.

And  _ help _ is something he desperately wants to do.

_ Help _ is something Elle needs… whether or not she’s admitted it. To her colleagues or herself.

But… that shouldn’t matter. 

They’re her team. Her friends.

And ultimately, it falls onto their shoulders to see to it that she’s okay.

He can’t shake the feeling that they’ve failed spectacularly.

He shifts his go bag on his shoulder, and enters the station. His team is already there. 

Most of them.

Elle is unaccounted for. 

That concerns him.

He drops his bag off on one of the desks and glances around the room.

Hotch makes eye contact, giving him a small nod that acknowledges his presence as he joins them, but nothing beyond that.

They’re busy. They all should be.

They’re on a case, two UNSUBs on a killing spree.

And they have a lead. 

One they’re depending on Garcia to do a little deep digging on.

Someone shuffles in behind him.

Reid only turns about halfway, enough to see that it’s Elle.

Her expression is wary, closed off. He’s noticed she’s been pulling deeper into herself, keeping herself apart from the rest of them, mentally if not physically.

He offers her a small smile, one she doesn’t quite return.

Garcia comes through for them. She always does. 

Two names. Trevor Lee and Damian Wile.

Responsible for the death of six women in a time period of two weeks.

They’re devolving. And rapidly at that.

The men have taken another victim.

Nineteen year old Madison Holt. 

But the BAU has a location.

It takes them five minutes to get out the door.

The SUV is no place to talk. It really isn’t.

But Reid can’t stop himself when he says, “Look, I- I know you probably don’t want to talk…”

Elle’s eyes never leave the road. “Then don’t talk.”

And so, biting his lip uncertainly, Reid says nothing more.

They approach the cabin from the front, he and Elle. They’re cautious, guns drawn.

Reid pushes everything to the back of his mind, everything but the matter at hand.

The sun is setting. Reid tries to ignore the encroaching shroud of darkness. It’s closing in on them, something they can’t escape. 

The cabin door has been left open.

“Looks like someone left in a hurry,” Elle comments, glancing at Reid.

They approach slowly. It doesn’t matter how abandoned it looks. There’s always the possibility of surprises with this job.

And surprises can be fatal.

Reid counts to three in his head, shares a glance with Elle, then, “ _ FBI!” _

Elle bursts into the room. Reid is directly behind her.

“Clear!” she calls a moment later. 

It’s a single room, but that makes sense.

They only needed to keep their victims here.

Their UNSUBs aren’t there, neither is their victim, but it’s not… it’s not quite empty. 

There’s blood, so much blood spilled on the floor.

Madison Holt. Their latest victim.

They were too late.

Behind him, Elle sucks in a breath.

Reid closes his eyes, a moment of mourning for a life snuffed out.

There’s a stench of death in the air, a heavy, suffocating presence of evil.

Suddenly, he can’t get away fast enough, and he backs out of the cabin.

His mouth is dry and he places a hand against the outer wall, steadying himself.

Elle is out then. Her face is pinched, haunted, and there’s a quiet anger simmering just beneath the surface. 

They’ve seen so much. All of them have.

But Elle… the blood on the floor.

She’s likely remembering, remembering her own near fatal encounter with an UNSUB, the blood on her floor.

Reid can’t help but worry that’s she’s come back to the field far too early.

To her credit, she schools her expression.

“Madison,” she says, and her voice is hard as iron, “isn’t here.”   
“We were too late.” The words taste like ashes in his mouth. “She’s dead.”

And if she’s dead, that means their UNSUBs aren’t here.

They’re disposing of the body.

But they don’t know they’ve been compromised.

They’ll come back.   
“We can wait for them,” Elle says. 

“We need to tell Hotch.” Reid’s eyes travel around the forest. The trees suddenly feel like malignant entities, hearkening the coming of darkness.

_ The dark-an inherent absence of light. _

A shudder-like something crawling up his spine-runs through him.

A twig snaps.

Elle’s eyes jerk up, and Reid turns. “Hotch-?”

The words die on his lips as he collides with a broad chest.

It’s not Hotch.

His gaze catches a face, an untrimmed beard still flecked with spots of blood, and wild eyes. Even in the dim lighting, he recognizes the visage of Damian Wile. He stumbles back, mouth open in surprise, even as he goes for his gun.

With an almost unnatural speed, an arm catches his wrist, knocking the gun from his hand and spinning him around.

He hears Elle’s voice but her words are lost under the ringing in his ears.

A thick arm wraps around his neck, and another around his waist, pinning one arm to his side and holding him flat against the UNSUB’s chest.

“Let him go.” Elle’s gun is out, aimed point blank at the two of them. “Let him go, or so help me…”

“What are you going to do to me?” the UNSUB- _ Damian Wile _ -asks. His voice is a sneer, soft, raspy. Nothing more. “Are you going to shoot me? Would you like to try?”

Elle says nothing. She’s fuming, but there’s nothing she can do. Not unless she wants to shoot Reid.

Something is wrong. Something is wrong.

Reid can’t think. He can’t think, but he knows something is wrong.

There’s two of them. Only one is here. 

Where’s Trevor Lee?

Has that occurred to Elle?   
If Trevor Lee is approaching from behind...

The man dips his head, down towards Spencer’s ear. “Did you really think you could stop us?” he whispers. “We’ll kill you.” He raises his voice, directing the next part to Elle. “You and your pretty friend.”

Elle stiffens.

“No you won’t.” The voice that sounds behind Wile-followed by the telltale click of a gun’s safety, has never been more welcomed. “Let him go.” Steady. Confident. Hotch.

Wile tenses, muscles freezing, limbs constricting tighter around him.

“Are you going to make me?” he challenges softly.

“You killed sixteen women, Damian. You and Trevor Lee,” Hotch continues. “We have him. Did you know that?”   
So they have him. They have Trevor Lee. One less UNSUB for them to worry about.

Finally, Wile speaks. “I can snap his neck.” His hand grasps Reid’s chin painfully.

Reid closes his eyes, unable to prevent a small gasp from escaping.

“Are you sure?” Hotch asks and his voice doesn’t waver. “Damian Wile, are you certain you can do so before I pull this trigger?”

The man hesitates. Reid is almost sure he’s going to break his neck anyways. Or try to. And even if he trusts Hotch to be able to make the shot, he doesn’t like the risk.

He’s not too keen on dying.

The split second following that seems to stretch on for hours.

And then, at last, the arms release him, sliding away.

Reid stumbles forward, hand flying to the flesh of his throat, and whipping around, not wanting to have his back towards the man for a second, even with Hotch present.

Hotch already has the man on the ground, cuffing his hands behind his back.

He lifts his head. “Are you alright?” His eyes are on Reid, but he directs the question at the both of them.

“I’m fine,” Reid says, though his voice sounds hoarse even to his own ears.

“Elle?” Hotch tears his eyes away from Reid.   
“Fine,” Elle says shortly.

Wile grunts beneath him, tilting his head enough to send a furious glare.

“Morgan?” Reid asks breathlessly.

“With Lee,” Hotch answers, yanking Wile to his feet.

Wile rolls his eyes over, and his smile is hungry, predatory, as he roves them over Elle and Reid. “One day,” he says. “One day I’ll be out and I’ll make good on my promise.”   
“You’re never getting out,” Elle tells him, stepping forward, ahead of Reid. “You’re going to  _ rot _ in prison for the rest of your life.”   
She holds Wile’s gaze until Hotch nudges him forward. 

They’re leaving.

Reid casts one look at the cabin, the place with so much pain, so much death, in its history.

He doesn’t look back again.

“What happened?” Hotch’s voice is clear and without any accusation.

Reid swallows, though it’s Elle who answers first.

“We found the cabin.” Her arms are crossed. It’s a defensive posture, but, right now, it seems less defiant. “There was blood,” she says. Her voice wavers just a little at the end, nearly unnoticeable.

Except it’s not.

“Reid?” Hotch is looking at him now, waiting to hear what he has to say.

“He…” Reid licks his lips, focusing his gaze on his Unit Chief. “He came up behind me. I didn’t see him.” He swallows uncomfortably. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Hotch replies firmly, looking at both of them in turn. He places a hand on his shoulder. “We caught him. That’s what matters.”

His eyes find Elle’s

Reid’s not sure what private message he conveys to her, but, whatever it is, he hopes she accepts it.

“Reid.”

They’re clearing out, preparing to head back home when Elle’s voice catches him.

He turns, fidgeting, fingers running over the strap of his go-bag. “Oh, um, hey.” He offers a smile. 

Once again, he finds that Elle doesn’t return it.

She looks serious, guilty, maybe even a little ashamed. “Reid, I’m sorry,” she says as soon as she’s close.

Reid’s mouth drops open slightly as he squints at her. “I… for what?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“I should have had your back. He shouldn’t have been able to take us by surprise.”   
Reid lifts one shoulder in a mild shrug. “You can’t blame yourself for that,” he says softly.   
Elle stares at him a second longer, chewing on her bottom lip.

_ Now, _ he thinks. Now he could try talking to her, try getting her to open up, but then her gaze drops away and she shakes her head, unconvinced.

“Elle?” He speaks up again to catch her attention and, once he has it, all he says is, “It was my fault as much as yours.”

She lets out a breath, dropping her hands down to her sides.

And it’s in that instant that Reid decides to say something. Even if it doesn’t go over well.

Because he can’t just sit and do nothing anymore.

Elle’s on the edge of doing something extreme and he’s suddenly terrified that this might be just enough to push her over.

“You can talk to me, you know,” he says, rushing, lest he lose his nerve to confront her. (Which is ridiculous because this is Elle and they should never be afraid to try to talk to one another.)

Elle blinks at him. “What?”

“You can talk to me,” he repeats. “About anything.”

And now it’s out there. His offer. For her to reject or refuse.

She hesitates and he can see the wheels turning in her mind, but then her expression hardens and she shakes her head.

“I can’t.”

And even though he half expected them, they’re two of the hardest words Spencer Reid has had to hear.

She gives him one last look, and then Elle Greenaway walks away.


End file.
